Hating Mr Stark
by Alibi Nonsense
Summary: One would think the avengers had never met the big four. This was true. They never had. But the big four had met them... oh yes. And Famine hated every single one of them... And there were valid reasons.


The big four and the avengers never met, according to most literature. This is because, as most literature would have you believe, Famine, War, Pollution and Death never existed, and neither did the avengers. This is wrong in most instances, but mainly in the instance that, yes: the big four and the avengers were, despite what one may have heard, rather well acquainted… one-way, in most cases… in that the avengers – most of them – had no idea that the big four did indeed exist.

The big four, however, had had their eye on the avengers for a very long time indeed. And, as personifications, of course they had formed their own opinions on such controversial subjects. Of course they had.

o

One Dr Raven Sable, novelist, inventor of foods and owner of restaurants, aka Famine, held particularly strong opinions on all five of them. Namely, he hated them. All of them. And oh yes there were valid reasons. Oh yes.

For example, he hated Mr Anthony Stark.

Mr Stark was the most frequent of his non-dieting customers. Dr Sable hated him very much: very much indeed, for, if he hadn't been an avenger, none of the others would have come to his restaurants and so his hatred might have been only a passing phase.

Mr Stark was irritating in the extreme, especially to a proprietor of public establishments and teeth-grittingly so to one who also happened to be the personification of Famine.

Mr Stark insisted on having 'the large portion' of 'whatever was going' when he visited (usually with some pretty girl in tow, to whom he paid the sum total of exactly no attention, and who ordered whatever he did in exact quantities down to the wine) and preceded to flirt outrageously with the staff, mouth off loudly to whoever was listening about quantity negating quality no-matter what 'Mr-so-and-so-in-the-rafters' said, get raucously drunk (Famine had no idea where all of the potent alcohol came from: he had his own especially made on the premises - no ethanol whatsoever (the effects of alcohol on an empty stomach had been a lesson he'd learnt very early on in his career)) and then unceremoniously chucked out along with at least half of the extremely angry patrons wanting 'Mr-so-and-so-in-the-rafters'' head on a stick and their money back.

No. Famine did _not_ like Mr Stark in the least little bit.

He'd respected him as the 'Merchant of Death'. He'd had to: War had had a crush on the man for the best part of ten years and had gone on endlessly, whenever they'd met up, about exactly how many bombs he'd had made in the last month and how many towns had been decimated and about the body count and about the… and he'd never listened. But he had respected him. Someone who caused that amount of aplomb daily in the life of even _one_ of the big four, was on the fast track for _respect_ at least, if not a _medal_… That or life-long prison sentence.

This had been the case for years. War had made everybody sick of the subject of him, Pollution had started skipping out on meetings because nothing anybody ever said had had anything to do with any of his personal talents (up until then he had been a good little horseperson in every respect), Death had taken up interruptions as a hobby – that and surprising people: it wreaked havoc on the cardiovascular system, Famine knew intimately…

And then he'd stopped. Become an avenger.

War had ranted; raved; thrown tantrums in the middle east where nobody ever bothered to try to help anyway (except some poor, stupid American 'valiants' who decided to assist whichever side looked better on posters despite the fact neither of them wanted any help) and had sulked continually, grey clouds and all, in the manner of the fan of some celebrity heartthrob whose idol, inconsiderately and selfishly, has just decided to become gay. And then she'd gotten over it.

Pollution had become dutiful once more and had started adding his opinions (which nobody had asked for) to the discussions to make up for the fact nobody would otherwise have brought them up. Death stopped giving his clients second-time-round heart attacks and everybody else terminal paranoia. War decided she was ever so happy never ever ever having to see his ugly mug emblazoned all over her propaganda posters ever ever again.

Famine, however, owned one of the most expensive restaurants in America. When the reason behind their exasperation owned more money than its own country owed in debt, the reason behind their exasperation became extremely hard for Famine to avoid.

And so Famine had put up with Mr Stark. And all his 'donations to charity' and all his 'pangs of conscience' and all his 'extra-extra-large portion sizes come on this is America of course you have one it's compulsory'. And he would have coped.

If only the reason behind their exasperation had been a celibate social recluse.

o

Dr Banner was one of Mr Stark's closest friends. Ah, how nice.

Famine hated him.

He was polite. He was genteel. He apologised for all of Mr Stark's social blunders and all his inappropriate flirting. He smiled. He laughed at other people's jokes. He was generally a wonderful man to be around.

Famine still hated him.

Death was fond of the man, despite his alter ego. Death was fond of anybody who knew the capital of Eritrea and who gave lame puppies hot baths and leg braces. Death was… eccentric. Famine knew he did his job… but then that was all any of the big four knew about Death, except for his disturbing love of palm-sized fluffy things. The two did not agree on most topics.

Dr Banner was one of them. Famine had not been counting how many hungry people Dr Bruce Banner had cared for during his time in India, but… no he hadn't! And the numbers _had not_ made an impact on his wall calendar of Deaths per Year due to Starvation Every Day of the Month because they _hadn't_. _At all_. (He wouldn't _let_ them.)

And it most assuredly wasn't the reason that the doctor hadn't received a free ticket for two in Barbados when he'd managed to become the 100th restaurant visitor of the week one time during November. It wasn't. Because Famine, no matter what it said on the label, was not some petty warmonger who dissolved into neurosis at the least little opportunity. Because he wasn't, and it was fine, and everybody he knew who was human or who was the personification of death, liked Bruce Banner and he was not one to support differing opinions if he knew they were unseemly and rude.

…Despite this, Famine really hated Dr Banner.

Pollution was indifferent. Pollution was always indifferent towards everything that didn't involve large amounts of oil, smoke or dead fish, so Famine tended to ignore his points of view. Pestilence was said to be the same, although they'd had fascinating discussions on the topics of malnutrition in slum areas, so he didn't know what anybody else was on about, really.

War put up with the man more than anything else, although she constantly exuded mild irritation whenever he happened to be brought up in conversation, since, despite the fact his alternate persona caused death and destruction wherever it went, Dr Banner himself negated the effects by being the complete opposite 24/7 and a half of the time.

o

Steve Rogers he despised. He represented a large proportion of most of the four's failures personified, which was why they didn't like him. 'Most of them' including Pestilence, since orphanages in the thirties had been his domain.

He had been small, skinny, not afraid to fight back with noble intent (War had a particular vendetta) and cursed with the most knee-collapsing barrage of complications Famine and Pestilence had ever conspired to cook up. And despite this, the man was six foot high and built like a tank! Pollution had once entered a meeting almost in tears, because the man had organised a boy scout outing to clean up Central Park. Pollution was rather a wet blanket in these instances - Famine didn't burst into wracking sobs every time people had hot dinners – but you had to feel sorry for him once in a while: the man picked up _crisp packets_. It was nauseating. Even girl guides didn't walk along with bin bags and litter pickers tucked away in their back pockets. Not that one had back pockets wearing spandex, but it was the spirit of the thing.

And he defied social norms. He was the epitome of cringe-worthy piety. He could sympathise with Mr Stark in that respect. In fact, if anyone could do either of the two any good, it would be by rubbing off on each other, but the both of them were irritatingly stubborn.

Captain Rogers didn't waste food. He ate it. All of it. And he recycled the packaging.

He donated any torn costumes to the history museum, and cut up the ones they rejected to make patches for the new ones that tore.

He broke up bar fights. Being an avenger, one would expect him to have a certain level of nobility, but considering his colleagues often _started_ them, one had to wonder… It would certainly make it much more depressing for the big four if he _was_ actually just doing it to annoy them, rather than doing it because he got pleasure from it: it would certainly explain a lot of things.

But nope. Famine, as far as his research went, could find nothing to suggest such a thing.

Captain Rogers was just exceedingly creepy and very, very tabloid-repellent indeed.

o

Agent Barton and Agent Romanov were the most normal of the five, although they were most definitely not normal. War actually got on with the both of them as far as journalism was concerned. She admired their 'tenacity' (otherwise known as 'patience' in circles that didn't involve the personification of anger-management breakdown) and fondly reminisced on their 'dripping red ledgers' (she also admire Loki) to anyone who would listen. Famine found himself becoming rather strained whenever one of these stories got told. Mainly because, despite their notorious marksmanship and rigorous training rituals, none of the good stuff had anything to do with him.

Meanwhile, on the flip side of the coin…

He didn't see why War couldn't see that their endless muscle-management and strict regime was keeping them right on track as far as diet was concerned. As soon as one of them (Barton) slipped off track (Chocolate Cake) or deviated from the timetable (Take-out), the other (Natasha) promptly dragged them back on again (bin the cake; extra exercise; more vegetables; no TV tonight, you bad boy). The first and last time Mr Stark had treated them to a meal at the famous Dr Sable's five-star dining establishment, Agent Romanov had started handing round vitamin tablets.

_And_ hadn't eaten a morsel until she'd litmus-tested for six different types of poison.

And then had had the nerve to ask about the nutritional content.

And had complained.

Loudly.

And had refused to eat her second course.

It was very bad for business, among other things. Coupled with the fact that the fifth avenger had been there too and had insisted on the whole "ANOTHER!" *smash* routine for the whole of the five courses (originally there had only been two… but then Mr Stark had happened) and had broken a great deal of expensive china on a carpet that not only had been hand-crafted in the slum-quarters of downtown Dubai, but had been woven together from wool digested in the stomachs of Pyrenees Mountain Goats for twenty days during the full moon period in July. And he'd gotten shards stuck between the strands.

o

Famine did not know the fifth avenger's name. He did not want to know the fifth avenger's name. He had made sure that he had not caught wind of it. The big four knew enough for them not to speak it in his presence: to call him 'the fifth avenger' whenever he was brought up. Anonymous of Asgard was not one of Famine's favourite topics of discussion.

War loved him, seeing as his whole planet was dedicated to her every whim.

Death liked him as much as Death could go against impartiality, because Death did like small fluffy things as aforementioned, and the fifth avenger was very much like a fluffy animal in himself bar the fluffiness in literal terms.

Pollution was indifferent. The fifth did tend to leave things lying around as befitting a prince of Asgard, so that was a good mark as far as White was concerned, but it was a rather faint tally when up against most of the world's politicians.

Nobody asked for Pestilence's opinion, but Famine found him a rather subtle shoulder in case he became like Pollution and started crying all over everything, and he was a nice one to go off darkly with to pubs. Other than that, he was, for all intents and purposes retired and held no sway in their conversation.

Yes. Famine absolutely loathed the fifth avenger. _Loathed_ him and his infernal "ANOTHER!" *smash* when there was no another to be had.

o

Oh yes. War may have had her Merchant of Death and her Prince of War and her Capable Assasin Duo. Death might have had his Fluffy Thing Personified and his Rescuer of Kittens. Pollution might have had his Smashers and Pestilence his… his retirement home comforts… erm…

But Famine hated them all; oh yes…

Famine hated them all.


End file.
